Of Coffee Stains
by pineapple desu
Summary: Norway comes home late and Iceland is, of course, annoyed.  NorIce.


Coffee Stains

Summary: Norway comes home late and Iceland is, of course, annoyed. NorIce.

A/N: I-I'm not exactly sure how this came to be LOL. I have a very limited vocabulary, sorry. OTL I hope you enjoy this piece anyway!

* * *

_Look in these eyes._  
_We know each other like our own skin and bones._  
_We know the scars, how they got where they are,_  
_In places no one else knows. _

...

...

The clock ticked like a bomb, annoyingly incessant. The breeze the open windows made was not welcome and, at the same time, was; he cast aside his tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his equally white shirt, contemplating violet eyes at half-mast.

He crumpled the note Norway had left him (_Back by 6, N, _that bastard had scribbled carelessly) and tossed it into the trashcan with more force than necessary. His knee hit the chair next to him, seated close like lovers. He swore silently and was, for a second, glad his brother had not caught him in that undignified moment.

He stood up and poured a cup of coffee, wondering where the blond was. It was past eight o'clock already. Iceland felt like a girlfriend who had been stood up; it was a feeling he was accustomed to. He wished he could blame Denmark, but the Dane didn't even know he was stealing Norway. It wasn't right to condemn someone unknowing of their crime.

He took a sip of the beverage, and nearly cursed in surprise when the door opened. He turned slightly to appraise Norway, taking in the rumpled shirt and tousled hair. It was really quite easy to guess what he'd been doing. His eyes stung and he coughed, teeth clicking against his cup, returning to stare at the coffee-maker.

He reached up and opened the cabinet above him, reaching for a mug. Both doors shut at the same time and he froze. Releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding, he filled the container with coffee, and braced himself to look at his brother.

Norway was calmly finger-combing his hair, his cross clip on the mahogany table. His tunic had less wrinkles, at least, and now that Iceland was looking, it appeared to have a faded brown stain that looked suspiciously like tea. He paused and explained shortly, taking the mug, "Denmark spilled something."

He seemed to welcome the caffeine, at least, swallowing the hot liquid appreciatively.

Iceland gazed at him through his lashes, his brow furrowed slightly as he drank. "You're late," he blurted out after a few more minutes of silence, immediately regretting speaking. The man in front of him seemed not to notice he had spoken, focusing instead on draining his mug.

For reasons he could not explain, Iceland became irritated at the lack of reply, and he set his cup down on the table with a sharp _clack_; Norway quickly followed suit, noticing the silver-haired boy's advance.

Iceland grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him open-mouthed with no pretense of gentleness. He was fiercely dominating, hands snaking up to tangle in soft blond hair. It was so uncharacteristic of him, Norway wondered if he should be frightened.

The older nation responded to the ferocity with tenderness, cupping his brother's face and stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs. Slowly, the kiss became more docile, and Iceland pulled away slightly, breathing raggedly. Norway wasn't much better; he licked his bruised lips and said, "I know."

At first, Iceland didn't know what he was talking about, but then realized he was answering his accusation. He closed his eyes and pressed their foreheads together. "... What were you doing with Denmark?"

"We didn't do what you think we did," Norway replied, pulling Iceland's hands away from his hair; he clasped them, lacing their fingers together. "We simply had a scuffle."

Iceland laughed softly. "Who says _scuffle_ nowadays?"

Norway rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. "Me. Possibly England, as well."

"Possibly," the shorter country agreed gravely, opening his eyes to look at the man curiously. "What were you and Denmark fighting about?"

The blond hesitated, tightening his grip on his brother's hands. "You, actually. And Mario Kart. I won five times in a row and he was somehow convinced you were outside his window, helping me 'cheat'."

The island nation chuckled, the sound music to Norway's ears. "That's the kind of crazy thing he'd think."

Norway smiled—it was small, but it was there, nonetheless. "_Jeg elsker deg_," he declared almost shyly, gaze softening in a rare moment's vulnerability.

Iceland's eyes widened; the declaration of love was not something Norway said often. For him to say it then was... Laughter bubbled out of the amethyst-eyed country, and he shifted so he could press their mouths together. "_Ég elska þig_," he whispered sincerely against his part-time lover's lips.

And all was well in the world again.

Until America and England engaged in a prank war and defaced each other's monuments.

But that's a story for another time.


End file.
